


On War

by UniquelyQueer_67



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anti-Donald Trump, Character Death, Imperialism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Military, POV Queer Character, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Soldiers, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24582343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniquelyQueer_67/pseuds/UniquelyQueer_67
Summary: He died a casualty of a pointless war, made to believe that was something he wanted.Tom didn't do it for his country.He did it for Harrison.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	On War

**Author's Note:**

> This was written out of spite bc I was just minding my own business watching Mulan and enjoying the queer and trans undertones, but my brother wouldn't stfu about the military. Kept praising it and junk.  
> So here's a story about a man who lost someone he loved, and decided to say "y'know what, fuck imperialism, and fuck the military"
> 
> And while we're on the subject, #blacklivesmatter and #allcopsarebastards

A rifle was before them, driven into the snow like a flagpole. Atop the weapon was a helmet stained with mud and blood. In front, a pair of boots, with a familiar scuff on the left toe.

> _ "It's a comfort thing. I rub the back of my heel with my toe when I'm nervous..." _

Harrison rushed to the shrine and fell to his knees. He saw Tom's name and grabbed.

The metal of the dog-tags were made cold and hard by the weather. A name stamped into their surface, the same 's' and 'a' and 'o' as Harrison's own. A number, meant to validate his friend's identity, to identify him amongst thousands of faceless soldiers, was cut in an identical font. 

This conveyed nothing of his toothy smile, or his awkward jokes, or his warm laugh that brought lightness to a place of violence.

Harrison looked down at his identical boots, thought of the posture they all donned. When their CO gave orders, how they'd all shout 'yes sir!' and march in perfect synchronisation. 

The cold metal bit into his palm.

"He was a good soldier," came Parker's voice. Steady and controlled, "he served his country well. He was a good soldier, and his legacy will reflect that."

Loyalty. Blind obedience. Discipline. Indoctrination. Service. Murder.

Good soldier…what did it mean to be a good soldier…

" _ Legacy?”  _ said Harrison, his voice shaking with just so much  _ emotion _ , "all Tom will be remembered by is how good he was at following orders. How willingly he threw himself in the line of fire. How quickly he would _ die for the sake of land and oil and money, _ " Harrison spoke quietly, rage boiling inside of him. Rage at the world, rage at his CO, rage at Tom, rage at Parker, and rage at himself, " _ That isn't a legacy! That's not even a shitty eulogy!" _

"Harrison!” Lieutenant Parker raised his voice. This was the part where he stood and saluted and said 'yes sir' and 'sorry sir'.

Now he was sure the dog-tags had broken skin. Tom always knew how to do that; get under his skin.

Harrison saw a drop of his blood hit the snow. The phrase  _ what's one more? _ popped into his head.

Something snapped.

" _ You're all fucking disgusting…" _ he whispered into his closed fist. The only thing left of his friend, his  _ Tom _ , a piece of fucking metal and a number.

"What was that, Private?" Said Parker. Steady. Controlled. Unfeeling. Cold as the snow soaking through to Harrison's knees.

"I said," Harrison got to his feet and turned around to face the Lieutenant, " _ YOU'RE ALL FUCKING DISGUSTING! _ ” the words felt as if they were ripped from his throat. A shrill cry. And there were hot tears in his eyes as he punched his superior right in the nose. The fucker who convinced him to sign up. The man who filled his head with imperialist, patriotic  _ garbage _ !

So many tears gathered that he couldn't see through the blur.

Harrison didn't notice until they all began to fall, that he hadn't stopped at one punch. He'd given Lt Parker two black eyes, a broken nose, a busted lip, and - if his groans were anything to go by - at least one broken rib.

He'd done everything his training told him to do in close combat. He was precise, quick, and brutal. 

Harrison swallowed back a wave of nausea as he scrambled away from the Lieutenant.

Freezing cold snow seeped into the cut on his palm, and he hissed in pain, in addition to the sobs.

Sobs so intense they made his whole body shake with it.

> _ "Wanna know what I did before I signed up? Cashier. But I really wanted to play guitar." _
> 
> _ "You've got gravy on your chin…" _
> 
> _ "What? You like me or something?" _
> 
> _ "Keep your hands high, cover your face." _
> 
> _ "You got a girl?" _
> 
> _ "Handsome fella like you…" _
> 
> _ "You remind me of my ma." _
> 
> _ "You keep staring at me like that people will talk…" _
> 
> _ "Why'd you stop?" _
> 
> _ "You're makin' me blush, private!” _
> 
> **_"I'll go. Stay here and wait for me. Don't you dare leave me, Harrison._ ** **Don't you dare."**

  
  
  


He got a dishonourable discharge. Figures.

Tom got a military funeral.

Harrison hosted a private wake with the man's family. He never thought he'd learn so much about his old buddy other than the way his back moved as he made his bed.

His old buddy…

Harrison cried when he told Tom's sister about how her brother made him feel.

He was such an idiot.

A stubborn fucking idiot.

When they dug up Tom's coffin, and the casket was opened for one last goodbye before the cremation, Harrison tossed in his dog tags and didn't look back.

They burned with Tom's body.

He died a casualty of a pointless war, made to believe that was something he wanted. Tom always was smarter than him.

He didn't do it for his country.

He did it for Harrison.

And Harrison was in love with a dead man.


End file.
